


slow down (crazy child)

by tryingmyhandatwriting



Series: different types of rebellion [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Tommy as a dad, tommy and his children, tommy with a soft daughter, tommy with a teen daughter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 01:21:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21066419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryingmyhandatwriting/pseuds/tryingmyhandatwriting
Summary: Alongside the Italians, Tommy has to deal with his teenage daughter who is hell bent on driving him mad, he's sure of it.Or, Gemma's just trying to enjoy being a fifteen year old girl and all that comes with it but being Tommy Shelby's daughter makes it hard.(the story of Gemma and Tommy in season 4)





	slow down (crazy child)

**Author's Note:**

> Gemma is fifteen years old in this story. 
> 
> Set in S4

Gemma got seasick but Tommy requested her presence so there she was, on a boat halfway to Birmingham. Her parents both knew she hated the travel distance - and she usually only had to do it once a year - but her father hadn’t asked if she’d visit, he told her she would, and her mother never really did figure out how to tell him no.

“He missed so much time with you because of war,” her mother said, “how can I deny him anymore?” 

And so, what Tommy Shelby wanted, he got. 

He fucking requested her. Like she was a whore or an associate. Not like she was his daughter. 

She shacked up in her cabin, splitting the day between vomiting and trying to sleep the nausea away. Gloria, the nanny and house maid her mother had sent with her, was her only company. Popping in every few hours to check in on her, give her tea and offer food. 

“Have you been feeling any better, child?” 

Because Gloria was dark skinned, she had to suffer from the glares of all passengers and some even dared to spit at her. It made the anger in Gemma’s chest burn. 

Gemma took her head out the bucket having just finished being sick. She snarled at the tea that was being presented to her, pushing the mint smell away. She didn’t need tea or food or sleep, she needed off the blasted boat. 

“Why does my dad hate me?” Her voice broke and she laid back, sweaty and tired. Hair was sticking to her forehead, her skin was pale and sickly, throat aching with her desire to break down in tears. 

“Oh, sweet girl,” there was a hand scratching at her scalp now, “you’ll be alright. Only one more day.” 

And Gemma’s question was left unanswered because Gloria was smart and she knew if that question was answered, she would surely lose her job. The Shelby’s, Tommy especially, always found out everything. 

Gemma cried and Gloria left her to it. 

\-   
Uncle John was dead. 

He was really dead, and while Gemma loved her uncle Arthur and while she spent years of her childhood following her father around trying to get a scrap of his attention, Uncle John was her favorite and now, because of a stupid vendetta, whatever the fuck that was, he was taken from them. Gone. Dead. 

She shed tears at his funeral, lots of them, heartbroken, so busy holding his Peaky hat to her chest, that the first gunshot that sounded didn’t enter her mind. It wasn’t until the second shot that Ada reacted for her, pulling Gemma down to the ground. Gemma thinks she heard her father shouting orders, per usual, Arthur explaining why there was gunshots, and Polly fighting them. It was like the year the family spent apart hadn’t happened because everything was exactly the same. 

She heard her dad say something about a boat being organized for anyone who wanted no part in this; shrugging off her aunt Ada she followed Curly to the boats.   
\-   
Hours later her father sat beside her while Johnny Doggs prepared them all dinner. 

“You don’t have that choice, Gem,” it sounded to her like her dad was trying his hardest to keep his voice soft and not shout. Like when she was seven and would cry and he’d do whatever it took to stop her crying, however after a certain amount of time he stopped caring for her tears, yet Gemma never stopped caring enough to not cry. “You’re my daughter so you don’t get a choice. It’s either you stay or they fucking kill you and I’m not about to let that happen.” 

Did he really care? 

“You should have cared that much about Uncle John. Then he wouldn’t be dead.” 

She thinks her father opened his mouth again but she started crying again so he left her alone. Again. 

\-   
Everyone was on her case about what she had said, apparently Tommy had said it to the men whilst drunk and the men turned around to tell the women. 

So much for not telling people things. 

Gemma pretended to be asleep the next morning until she was sure her father had gone off for the day. She heard her room door - which was really Ada’s old room - open and the floorboards creak under his weight. He stood there for a while, his footsteps moving closer until he seemed to think better of it and left, shutting the door behind him. 

She shuffled out of bed as quickly as she could, slightly tripping on the duvet on her way to the window. Outside her father was giving orders to a man in a Peaky hat, obviously a soldier from war because he was too old to not have fought. Polly’d be glad it wasn’t a kid who joined for sport protecting them. 

Tommy’s eyes flicked to the window. Gemma ducked out of view but not quick enough, Tommy spotting a flash of her dark hair and the curtains fluttering in her wake. 

Gemma didn’t stand from the floor until his car had turned on and his engine roared down the street. 

-  
Gemma was able to go three days before the guilt caught up to her. Her hair was starting to fall out, at the rate it was going she’d be bald by the end of the week. 

Finn cornered her while she was conducting a plan to sneak out. No lectures or rules or orders had been placed upon her but her father didn’t have to speak for her to be sure of what he would say. 

No going out late, no pub nights, no boys, no dates, early curfew, staying within certain city limits … all the limitations already made it hard for her to breathe. She’d go mad being cooped up, missing her dance recital the day before had been enough. 

“Don’t you think he’s got fucking enough on to have to sit around and be worried over his ungrateful daughter having a strop?” He spit out at her when he found her. “Over a dance recital no less, Gem.” 

Her eyes narrowed at him. How dare he. 

“It’s not over a dance recital, uncle Finn. It’s over Pol’s head being in that fucking noose, over me not seeing my cousins because of him, because he sent me away. It’s over me throwing up for a week on the boat because he killed someone so now we’ll be killed, because Uncle John was killed and he’s never coming back and Esme took the kids and little John told me before he left they’re never coming back either!” 

She was puffing, hair falling out its bun and red faced. Finn was no less angry than her but was unable to yell back at her because a firing of gunshots went off. 

Gemma felt her body grow cold, surely if there were bullets being aimed they would be aimed at her dad. Her feet were moving on their own accord towards their backyard. Finn was trying to stay in front of her, one arm kept behind him to stop her surpassing him. He was the one with the loaded gun, he should face the trouble first, alone. 

Finn stopped her from exiting, pulling her back. 

“It’s just Arthur and Tommy. Your dad was doing the shooting at a wall.” He pointed out the window where the curtain was pushed aside. Her father stood there with Arthur, both of them looked lonely and incomplete without John standing beside them. 

“All that you had to say… have you ever stopped to think about how he feels about it? About our brother dying? About how it hurt to send his daughter away? About the way Pol looks at him now? About-” 

“Alright, I get it.” Her eyes watered. She felt her blood begin to cool. “Leave me alone.” 

“When we were little we both idolized him…”

“Yeah. It’s called growing up and smelling the bullshit, Finn.” 

“Yea but at least I still recognize that whatever he may’ve done, it’s for us. For this family.” She clenched her jaw to avoid it quivering. “You used to tell your friends stories with Tom as your hero.” She remembered. “You used to get that he does what he does for you. We don’t all have rich grandpas paving the way for us.” 

With his last shot, Finn was off. Leaving her and her guilt and sadness standing alone, watching her father through the window. Watching him brush away non existent tears as Arthur consoled himself against the brick wall. 

Maybe it wasn’t easy to tell her father cared about John because he had been sad for so long already. 

\-   
She wasn’t sure if he’d be in that night but she got lucky. 

She heard his door open around midnight, him slipping in after spending a day whatever he was currently doing. Gemma figured long ago her dad was actually incredibly smart, it’s why it took a lot of things to keep him preoccupied. His mind worked quickly. 

When she tip-toed into his room it was dark and he had just slid into bed beside Charlie. 

He took his glasses off, left them on his drawer, and turned his attention to her. She stood quiet for a moment, not really having thought it through. She wasn’t seven years old anymore, she didn’t think the bad dreams excuse would get her anywhere. 

“Have you got pants on?” 

“Excuse me?” 

For the first time, her father looked confused, Gemma had to bite her lip to keep from giggling but she couldn’t hide her smile. 

“Have you and Charlie both got pants on?” 

“It’s too late to fucking-”

“Just answer my question, please.” She huffed. Just like him to make it difficult. 

“Yes, we’ve got bloody pants on.” 

“Shuffle over then.” Her feet were light against the floorboards, the night was cold, so she was quick to try sliding under the blanket. 

“You’ve got your own room, per your demands. Go there. Now.” His voice was stern. 

He wasn’t in the mood, obviously, but Gemma was. She’d heard a gunshot and thought her father had been killed, that was her life and she planned to make the most of it. 

“Send Charlie. Not fair for it to be me alone, I was your baby first.” 

She put clear humor in her tone but her words seemed to be enough to stop her father fighting her, allowing her to slide in beneath him as he moved Charlie against the wall. 

“Told you we fit.” Her smile was cheeky, he could see it in the darkness. 

“Bad dreams, Gem?” 

“Nope. Just missed you.” 

Tommy cleared his throat. For the second time that night she left him with no words. 

“You could have just invited me for a cuppa downstairs. We don’t fit, how long you plan on laying here?” 

“You once told me no matter how big or wrinkly I get, I’ll always have a place with you.” 

Her father grunted his response. He was tense, squished and uncomfortable; he’d have to deal with it for the night. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” It was like she was seven years old again and he had just returned home. Her clinging to him and sneaking into his bed, before he knew she would just lie about bad dreams, now she wasn’t even bothering with that. “I didn’t mean what I said I just… really hate boats.” 

Her father laughed at this. 

“You’re alright, Gem.” 

Tommy wanted to reach for a cigarette but one arm was squished under Charlie and the other under Gemma. He knew both of them were comfortable, at his cost, he didn’t wish to disturb them. 

“You know, all this, what you’re doing and saying, you’re clearly spending too much time in fucking America.” Gemma laughed loudly, as usual, at his words. Tommy had to shush her as Charlie stirred. “I was thinking even after all the trouble blows over, you’d stay with me and Charlie.” 

“Only if you swear to not miss more than three of my dance recitals this year.” 

“Are you having me on?” 

“What?” She asked. “One day I’m gonna grace the stage among only the best, don’t you want to be able to say you were there to see me when I was at my lowest?” 

“I pay for your fucking dancing. Those numbers are not low …” 

“You’re rich though, it’s alright.” 

“I obviously forgot to teach you humility.” 

She rolled her eyes. 

“Go to sleep, Gem.” 

“I can’t. I have trouble going to sleep. It’s not fear, it isn’t bad dreams it’s just … thinking, I guess.”

She looked to her father’s face, her eyes as bright blue as his. 

“Will you tell me a story?” 

“What do you wanna hear?” 

“Will you tell me a story about John and you? When you were kids.” 

He was quiet for a while so she thought he would ignore her. 

“Right then…” and so he told her a story of three brothers, angry at the world, and with plans to move up. 

If the next morning her father woke up with no feelings in his arms due to his children he didn’t say anything.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote again, I'm shocked too. Let me know what you think please :/


End file.
